


It'll Be Good For You

by Caffiend



Category: Bucky Barnes Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Steve Rogers Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Dark Steve Rogers and reader, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, F/M, Intense Sex, Isolation, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vampires, literary career, mild bondage, mountain cabins, my landlord is a vampire, vampire landlord fic frenzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which writer Aura Ellory follows her agent's advice and rents an isolated cabin high up in the Northern Oregon Coast Range. She's trying to work up her courage to write again while hiding from a determined stalker. But in the middle of the isolation, there's a menacing presence that's growing, along with her terror.
Relationships: James Bucky Barnes/You, Steve Rogers/OFC, Steve Rogers/You
Comments: 251
Kudos: 266





	1. What the Hell Was THAT?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fellow lumberjack lovers, @imanuglywombat has a deliciously tasty feast of lumberjack porn with some of your favorites: Lumberjack Bucky, Lumberjack Thor, Lumberjack Steve… put on your favorite plaid shirt and get to reading!!

You were trying to follow the directions on your phone while keeping the jeep on a road generously dotted with potholes when something huge soared across your windshield. Screeching, you slammed on the brakes, hands shaking on the wheel. “What the hell was that?” There was nothing but darkness ahead of your headlights and you were utterly still, waiting for something to rise up in front of your car - maybe a bloodied, dazed deer or an enraged bear, or -

“Good lord, give it a rest,” your voice sounded shaky and it embarrassed you a bit. “Don’t be such a sissy, just open the door and check.”

Following your own advice, you opened your door. There was nothing. No dent or patch of fur on your bumper, no signs of anything aside from the black marks you’d laid down when you’d stomped on your brakes. Turning in a circle, you felt that tide of claustrophobia again, building slowly as you’d driven higher and higher up the mountain. You were a city girl, this nature and fresh air stuff was creeping you out. “You’ll be better when you’re finally settled,” you counseled yourself as you started up the jeep again, “I’m sure all this healthy … you know, whatever will be great when you get used to living here.”

You talked to yourself a lot. Out loud, a proper conversation though you’d caught people staring at you sometimes when you’d forgotten you were in public. You’d gotten in the habit as a little girl, an only child and born to two Extremely Busy Professor parents who didn’t have much time for you. “Only another couple of miles, and the repair … dude … uh, handyguy … whoever will be there to give me the key.”

This move to the mountains was your literary agent’s idea, damn him. Why did you listen to him in the first place?

“It’ll be good for you, Aura,” James sat back, lacing his fingers together, elbows on his desk in that irritating posture your parents had often affected. “No distractions, no worries. No one to bother you. You won’t have to worry about him…” he paused awkwardly, knowing just uttering the name of your stalker made your hands shake.

You’d sucked in a breath, nodding. “Yeah, it’ll be good.” Squaring your jaw, you nodded firmly. “Good. No worries. I’m looking forward to it.”

The road had led past other turnoffs, of course, other luxury cabins that made up a huge resort for the wealthy who wanted to ‘get back to nature’ for a full day and thirty-five minutes before gassing up the jet again. But your dickhead of an agent apparently booked the one highest up on this part of the Northern Oregon Coast Range. The landscape was strange, craggy, rough protrusions from the ancient volcanic eruptions millions of years ago. The trees soared up into the sky, almost too high to see the tops. “Finally,” you mumbled, turning onto the private roadway to your cabin. As promised, there was a beat-up old Ford truck parked in front of the ridiculously huge structure that you assumed was your “quaint” cabin. The massive peaked roof was generously lined with huge windows and a wide front porch with comfortable outdoor furniture. Lights lining the walkway and the porch made the gigantic place look more welcoming.

“Hello? I’m looking for Steve Rogers?” 

It was silent, utterly as you approached the cabin. “Like, really silent,” you half-whispered, “aren’t there supposed to be crickets and owls and-”

“You won’t get much of those up here.”

With another embarrassing screech, you whirled to your left to find a man there. A gigantically tall and hugely wide-shouldered man with a beard, blond hair, and blue eyes, eyes so bright that they almost glowed. “Must be the moonlight,” you mumbled, then blushed red. “Sorry, I um, talk to myself a lot.” You thrust a hand out. “Aura Ellory. You’re Steve?”

Those vivid eyes darted down to your outstretched hand but made no move to take it. “Yes. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“Thanks for meeting me so late,” you ventured, awkwardly hauling your suitcase and backpack out of the back of the jeep. The man turned and walked up the stairs onto the porch. You rolled your eyes and followed him.

“No problem, I’m a night owl.” The corner of his mouth turned up. He had lovely, full pink lips, you noticed, almost incongruous under that beard.

Steve opened the front door for you, your eyes blinking to absorb the splash of bright light. “So, who owns this dump?”

You were trying to be funny, but his unimpressed expression quailed you a bit. “Some investor. They own half the mountain, all these cabins, I guess,” he said indifferently. “Anyway, here’s the main breakers for the electricity…” The gigantic man showed you around the cabin, and it was simply gorgeous. Even larger than it looked from the exterior and filled with beautiful furniture, a fluffy, comfortable bed and a kitchen where your ‘Iron Chef’ soul was simply dying to try a few things out. It was when Steve was explaining where the backup generator and the gardening tools were in the shed out back that you got to really look at him as he gestured toward the yard. The man was gigantic, what - 6”4, 6”5? His shoulders were so broad that you could see the flex and pull of muscle under his plaid shirt. Long, long legs and an utterly perfect ass encased in simple Levi’s. 

“…if a pipe breaks or your power goes out, call me. If it’s something stupid like your toilet backing up because you’re dumping tampons in there, I don’t wanna know.” He was looking down at you again, and you flushed.

“Well, thanks, Steve,” you tried to sneer, but his forbidding expression flattened your tone a bit. “But I know how to use a plunger. Anything else tricky and mountain-related?” God, this man was beautiful. Straight, dark brows furrowed as he stared, his perfect freaking bone structure and gorgeous skin - what the hell, was this guy an ex-model? - kind of distracting you. But you lifted your chin and one brow and stared right back.

But then he smiled, a real one, and leaned down, breathing in slightly. Not sniffing you exactly - that would have been really creepy - and said, “No. You know how to reach me. Goodnight.”

His abrupt departure made you blink, but you recalled enough of your manners to call after him, “Okay, uh, goodnight, then.” Turning and carefully locking the front door, you took in a deep breath. The immense cabin smelled of rosemary and pine sap from the firewood stacked next to the hearth in the living room. It did feel safe here. Away from the city. From your old life and stalkers. From people who wanted to hurt you.


	2. A Visit to the Ha-Ha Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aura takes a run. Who knew that fresh air and exercise could create such wild dreams?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fellow lumberjack lovers, @imanuglywombat has a deliriously tasty feast of lumberjack porn with some of your favorites: Lumberjack Bucky, Lumberjack Thor, Lumberjack Steve… on Tumblr - put on your favorite plaid shirt and get to reading!!

It took you the rest of the night to unpack everything and get settled, and the sun was starting to appear over the pines and into your windows when you pulled out the last item, your laptop. You carefully put it on the table you’d dragged into the main room and positioned by the windows. Pulling out pads of paper for notes and extra pencils to put in a cup. Stood back and looked at everything. Rearranged the laptop. Sat down at the table. And put your head in your shaking hands. “What am I going to do?” you whispered, “What if I can’t do this anymore?” Your reflection didn’t have anything to offer you, so you sighed and went to bed.

Your sleep was disturbed and fretful, the way it had been since the letters started a year ago. You woke up at every new creak and squeak in the cabin, including once when it sounded like footsteps ascending the stairs. You tumbled out of bed for that one, crouching by the bed and scrabbling for the handgun you’d stashed in a holster in the bed frame. By the time you had it in your trembling grasp, you felt like an idiot. “Great,” running a hand through your hair, “perfect. If that had been a break-in he would have been in here and stabbed me by the time I fell off the bed. Impressive reaction time, girl. Really.” Carefully pulling out the clip and making sure there wasn’t a round chambered, you replaced the weapon and stood up. It was late afternoon, based on how the light slanted through the trees outside.

"Might as well get moving," you said, in a voice so sulky that it annoyed even you. Still, after an aggressively intense cup of coffee, you were alert and ready to run. You'd started on the advice of a therapist you'd seen twice who was very adamant about the benefits of exercise. While running had definitely been a good idea, her optimistic chirpiness got on your nerves to the point that you decided to keep running but fire her. 

The sun was making its leisurely way toward the horizon when your sneakered feet hit the groomed dirt trail leading back to the main road. Until you knew the area better, it seemed like a good idea to stay with what you knew. “Okay,” you admitted, panting, “this could be pretty good here. I could like this." The air was cool for July as the evening light threw the ferns and trees into a sharper focus. You heard the occasional rustle from the underbrush and smiled. “Bunnies? I’ll bet it’s bunnies. Do they have rabbits this high up?” To be honest, having lived in sea-level Seattle for so long, the high altitude was forcing you to drag in more air, trying to get more oxygen. To your dismay, you could only run a mile or so before you had to slow to a walk, hands on hips as you breathed deeply. You turned and started heading back to the cabin, it was getting dark enough that you weren’t comfortable with being too far away. “Wait.” You stopped, turning around. “This is the right path, I just turned and came back the same way.” You turned around again. “Right?” You hated that uncertain tone. That weakness. You’d always been proudly independent before the letters started. Your parents gave you that, at least, by ignoring you. “Well, damnit…” You tried to regulate your breathing, pace yourself. “No panic attack, Aura!” Lecturing yourself sometimes worked. “Suck it up! You’re fine!”

“What are you doing here?”

You let out a full-throated scream and whirled around to see… Of course. Of course, it would be that hot-looking dolt of a handyman. “I’m, well damnit I’m lost, Steve!” you snapped, hand on your chest and feeling like a complete idiot. He was standing there, blocking the path with his arms folded - _those biceps, they were big enough for their own zip code,_ you thought mistily - over his broad chest. He was wearing those perfectly-fitting jeans and another plaid shirt. His expression was not welcoming. He was standing by his battered truck, parked in front of a cabin smaller than yours, but still beautifully designed. He even had flowers blooming in the front yard and some fragrant smelling wood burning in his fireplace.

“How did you get three miles from your cabin, cross-country and not be clear about the way back? These cabins may be fancy, but this is still the wilderness. You can get hurt.”

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Three miles cross-country? No, I just … I was on the road, and-”

Steve looked at you briefly and then at the night sky. “It’s too dark to walk back now.” He gave an irritable sigh and you watched, transfixed as that gigantic chest moved up and down. “Get in the truck. I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” you said, “just point me in the direction of the cabin and-”

“It’s nighttime and you’re going to get lost,” he said crisply. “Get in the truck.”

So, you did.

The ride back to your place was silent, you were trying to memorize the way and wrestle with your confusion at the same time. How could you have possibly gone as far as three miles? And you never left the road. But one side glance at his impassive face told you Steve wouldn’t give a rat’s rectum about your certainty that you weren’t lost. The mist was rising slightly, hovering over the ferns and lower bushes and everything looked a little eerie, unearthly. Pulling up to your cabin, he rested a muscled forearm on his steering wheel. “You have GPS on your phone?” he asked, still not looking at you.

“Yes?”

He extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Give it to me.” When you put your phone in his palm, he briskly entered the coordinates of your cabin and dropped a pin. “You’re lucky the mountain has cell coverage,” he said sternly, “the owner put in a cell tower so none of the residents would have to risk being without wifi for a single second.”

“Why Mr. Rogers, you almost sound like you’re capable of sarcasm, this is an exciting development.” You knew the second it was out of your mouth that your relationship with the handyman had not progressed to the stage where lighthearted quips would be appropriate. Actually, there wasn’t a time in your relationship that you could ever imagine that would be welcome.

Steve slapped the phone back into your hand. “Go.”

So, you did.

Back in front of your laptop…

You paced back and forth, staring at it, then plopping down with the intention of genius flying out of the tips of your fingers and onto the monitor, and then… didn’t. “This is it,” you moaned, “I’m screwed. I’m never going to write again and I’m going to die alone, homeless, and in a dumpster and my parents will be right!” Of all these nightmare scenarios, your parents being right was the worst, and you sat down again, determined to write something. Anything. Your phone rang. “Oh, thank god,” you mumbled and seized it eagerly. “Hello?”

“Well you sound cheerful,” your agent said warmly, “that’s great. Settling in already?”

“Oh, hey James,” you struggled to keep the smile on your face because you just knew the next words out of his mouth would be-

“Have you been writing, Aura? Even some practice paragraphs?”

“No, Dad,” you snarled, “I’ve been busy unpacking and getting lost in the middle of the forest and-”

“What?” his voice sharpened, “You got lost?”

“Well,” you shrugged, “that’s what the irascible handyman says, but-”

“Do I hear a hint of interest here?” James teased you, “My assistant did say he looked like a lumberjack model when she video conferenced him last week. Maybe a little inspiration for your new book?”

“What, seriously?” you cried, aghast, “The man is a total dick!”

“Fine.”

You could hear his long-suffering sigh, which of course made you immediately guilty. Even if James was unbearably pushy, he’d taken care of you, and the police, and security when the letters started. “James, have there been any more of… you know. The letters and stuff? Pictures?”

He was silent for a moment and you wished you were Facetiming so you could see his expression. “We don’t have to go there, Aura. Look, you’re safe and in a place that no one on this planet - aside from me well, and my assistant - knows where you are. You don’t even need to think about that psycho. You can concentrate on your writing and do what makes you happy. Are you still running?”

“Yes.” _God,_ you knew you sounded sulky and childish.

“Good! Good,” he said cheerfully, “tell you what. Just send me, I don’t know, a couple of chapters about living in the woods. Like Thoreau in Walden, right?”

You smiled in spite of your … well ... your spite. “Yeah, I can do that.” Hesitating, you blurted, “Thank you James, seriously. You take really good care of me, better than you’re paid for, certainly.”

“Hey,” you could hear his concern, which made you feel both better and needy. “You know that I care about you, right? Not just as a client, but a good person. A talented writer. A-”

“I get it!” you laughed. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

“Don’t forget my paragraphs!” he shouted as you hung up.

Your sleep was fragmented again. You'd stubbornly stayed up until nearly the dawn, a night owl now, just like Steve Rogers, Handyman, Sex God and Kind of a Dick. The dreams were vivid. 

You were sitting next to the fire pit in front of your cabin, settled into one of the big, comfortable chairs and enjoying the flames.

“What’s in the letters?” Steve was across from you, shirtless and lounging in a chair like he belonged there, holding a beer. His gaze held yours as he took a sip from the bottle.

“What- how do you know about them?” You cringed, feeling exposed all over again. The Fragile Author. The Nervous Breakdown.

His eyes were glowing again, like reflecting off the moonlight and all you could do was watch them, fascinated. A clear, perfect blue like the lake you’d passed on the way up the mountain. "I know everything," Steve said, his bearded face softening just slightly. “Tell me.” 

Why couldn’t you tell him to go to hell? To go fix something? To get out of your fire pit and stop drinking your beer? “There’s a man. He wants to kill me,” you said finally. Reluctant to make someone else look at you like you were a victim.

You watched a muscle tick under his beautiful cheekbone, but his expression stayed calm. “Go on, honey,” Steve’s tone was oddly kind, one you’d definitely never heard before.

“Oh, um…” You were holding a glass of wine in the dream and you took a gulp. Wow, you could feel the tannins and the sweet bite of blackberries from the vintage. This was a vivid dream. “The letters started about a year ago, last May, actually. The first one was just the standard fan mail, ‘I love your books,’ blah, blah, blah.” You took another swallow of wine to give yourself time. “But the thing with the letter? This guy writes, ‘You’re just as pretty as a picture.’ Except…” you drank deeply from your wine glass. “Except he’s attached a picture. A real one.”

Steve’s still watching you, unblinking. God, his eyes really are insanely blue. “Go on, Aura.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” you add, apropos of nothing. “So, anyway. The picture is of me. From the day before, sitting in a cafe where I used to write a lot. They’d keep my mug full of coffee- it was so big they used to joke and call it the ‘toilet bowl,’ but anyway…” Clearing your throat, you tried to forget all the pictures that came after this one. “He wrote, ‘your coffee cup’s so big I could drown you in it, but I won’t. I’m going to cut you up like a sow and bleed you out like one.”

You didn’t even see him move, but suddenly you were straddling Steve’s legs and his long arms were wrapped around you, rocking slightly as he crooned to you. He would kiss your cheek, or an eyelid, then rock you some more. And he never let go, that tight, comforting embrace. “My poor girl,” he soothed, the sweet words sounding oddly shaped from his stern mouth. “My sweet girl,” Steve purred, “I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

Despite the fact that this was a dream and really, why were you trying to clarify this to a dream guy, you said, “No, I won’t- look. I trained in self-defense and handling guns for this reason. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”

He was running his fingers over the sweep of your shoulder, which was bare, you noticed. The rough pads of his fingertips were from a man who worked with his hands. They felt oddly good, rasping over your smooth skin. “Is this why you stay up all night?” Steve whispered, leaning in to run his tongue along the tight, anxious tendon in your neck that always gave you headaches. His tongue was wonderfully cool and soothing.

“Yes,” you groaned as the sweep of his tongue ended in a little nip, right where your jawline met your neck. “Oh! God, that’s so good…” His hands were moving, one cupping your - surprise! - bare ass and the other gently stroking a line over your collarbones, almost metronomic. Back and forth, back and forth as he sweetly kissed your mouth. “I st- stay up so I can see him coming. He’ll sneak up on me in the dark, you know. For a while… oh…” The giant holding you as gently as a doll was running the tip of his chilly tongue up the long line of your throat. “F- for a while I didn’t sleep at all. I kept drinking coffee and staying awake and then I didn’t even take catnaps any more. I didn’t sleep for like a couple of weeks and I guess I was screaming a lot because my neighbors called the police and I woke up in the Ha-Ha Hotel.”

“The what?” His hand was gently squeezing your bottom and the other slid down to join it, but in the front, dipping into your underwear, which was apparently all your Dream Self had chosen to don for this engagement.

You pulled back, fingers smoothing his neatly trimmed beard. It was much softer than it looked. “The Psych Ward. Well, it was called the Swedish Behavioral Health Center, but since they locked me in my room and all the gardens were surrounded by walls with barbed wire, I’m pretty sure it was a nuthouse.”

“Don’t call it that,” Steve’s mouth was over your own for a long, wonderfully lazy moment as his full, pink lips explored your own, slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth. “You’re not crazy. You had a good reason to be terrified. And you got out. And you’re here.”

“My parents were called, I guess. Some busybody shrink recognized my last name and called them. They wouldn’t come, of course. My mother … oh, god!” The man’s long fingers had found your clit and he was carefully exploring it, pulling back the little flesh covering it and stroking up and down, circling it and then circling the entrance to your passage. 

His fingers came up to slip in your mouth. “Make them wet, sweet girl.” Your eyes closed as your suckled them, your tongue exploring along the thick digits pressed between your lips. When he pulled them from you, you whined a little bit, making him chuckle. Which unfortunately pushed the hard length of his jean-covered cock against your embarrassingly wet center. Steve slid one finger inside you, and then another as you yelped, nails digging unconsciously into the golden skin of his shoulders.

“My mother, she uh…” you shivered as his fingers tunneled into you, stroking and searching for sensitive spots, pausing when you stiffened, or moaned. “She told me they were disgusted with me. She told me not to call again until I did something to be proud of.”

Steve's fingers never stopped moving, even when the big hand planted on your ass began gently pushing you against his erection again, the rough denim material rubbing your aching clit so well, your swelling lips parting for the length of him, even covered up. “Your parents are worthless,” he promised, kissing your denials right out of your mouth. “You are brave and perfect, and I’m going to fuck you until you agree with me. But not tonight.” He laughed when you whined in protest, cringing as the noise came out of your mouth. “Oh, you’re still coming, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.” His fingers were moving faster inside you, his hand on your waist now, moving your hips and driving you into the now-wet crotch of his Levi’s. “Ask me nicely, now. Ask for your orgasm and I’ll give it to you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl? Such a good, _good_ girl, aren’t you.”

“I don’t…” you were moving your hips along with the urging of his hand, scooping low to rub against his cock, then rising up slightly to feel his fingers play inside you. God, they were so long, and thick! It already felt like his cock was inside you, stretching and pulling in a way that burned and stung, but it felt so good. And you hadn’t felt good in a long time.

“Shhh,” Steve’s voice was a bit hoarse, and you felt vaguely pleased with yourself for pulling him out of the stern demeanor he always used on you. “Be my good girl now and come.” His fingers twisted oddly and pushed higher inside you, higher than anything you thought could go inside your cunt but then your back arched and your nails dug deeper into his shoulders and you were coming - oh, my god it was so good and such a relief and you couldn’t think of a single thing but how good he made your feel and… There was a sharp pain on your breast, your nipple actually, and it almost startles you out of your orgasm but it was probably just Steve sucking on you too hard because it made you gasp and come again. You never liked pain. You’d been in pain too many times to find it sexy but this time … you asked for it. You begged him to suckle you harder and wailed like a freaking bobcat when his calloused thumb pressed down hard on your clit…

When you blearily opened your eyes, the light was slanting over the pines again, outside your window. You’d slept through most of the day. A good day’s sleep. Cautiously feeling yourself, you were dressed in your usual tank top and sleep shorts. There was no sticky come or bruises or bites or hickeys. Staring at yourself in the bedroom mirror, looking for evidence of the night before, of that wild dream, you found nothing. 

“Maybe I am crazy,” you said.

  
  



	3. Make Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aura discovers there’s just something about a man in a tool belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fellow lumberjack lovers, @imanuglywombat has a deliriously tasty feast of lumberjack porn with some of your favorites: Lumberjack Bucky, Lumberjack Thor, Lumberjack Steve… on Tumblr - put on your favorite plaid shirt and get to reading!!

As you stood in front of the mirror, the comforting light of evening was barely, softly illuminating your room. The dream (nightmare? sex dream slash nightmare?) rose up in full technicolor replay and you buried your head in your hands. God, Steve? The cranky-ass handyman? Why on EARTH would your sexually-deprived subconscious pick HIM to dream about? And so vividly that you swore your breasts hurt. The sound of a hammer got you staggering out of bed and over to the window, surveying the area around the cabin. 

Well, speak of the devil.

There he was, the stupidly hot handyman, using the distinctly unstable ladder from your tool shed to nail up a little white box on a post about 50 feet out from the porch. He pulled out his phone, clicked something and the box flashed brightly, on and off. “What the hell?” you hissed, yanking on a top with a bit more coverage. Striding down the stairs and out the door, you were halfway through, “What are you doing here, St-” in your most authoritative tone when you were lit up like a film premiere, lights suddenly blazing all around the perimeter of the cabin. You turned around in a circle, able to see nearly all of the sensors surrounding you from the deep front porch. Turning back to him, your head tilted questioningly.

His perfect face was expressionless, as usual. Double-checking the stability of the white box on the pole, he climbed down, absently flipping the hammer in his hand.

_If I tried that I would brain myself right into a coma_ , you thought crossly.

“Setting up your security perimeter,” he answered casually.

“My what?”

He was walking up to you, not stopping until he was on the step just below yours, making your gaze even with his. “Your security perimeter,” Steve answered with a surprising level of patience. “Anything larger than the size of your average deer will light up the entire yard like a football field. No one can approach this place without setting off half a dozen alarms.” He pulled out his phone, tapping something into it. “I had to adjust the sensitivity so every raccoon doesn’t set everything off, so...”

He trailed off, absorbed in the code he was entering and you gaped at him. _Omigod, does this mean last night was real? Did you tell him about Mr. Psycho and the Ha-Ha Hotel?_ You were so embarrassed that you were physically cringing away from him. “Wh- you’re- I-” you cleared your throat and started again. “Why are you doing this?”

Steve looked at you blankly. “Because your boss or buddy or whoever paid me extra to put in a perimeter alarm.”

You felt relief and an odd disappointment mix at his explanation. “Oh, you mean James, my agent?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Clearly, Steve was losing interest and was busy sliding the hammer back into his leather tool belt. You took a look at his lean hips sporting the manly accessory and felt your center get humiliatingly warm. He looked up suddenly, eyes darker. Pupils enlarged and his sharp features shadowy. His eyes, clear and blue as the sky during the day that you never stayed awake for went up and down your form. The tip of his tongue slid out to run slowly over those plump lips. “You should go put on some pants. The mosquitos will eat you alive.”

You were slamming pots and pans in the kitchen, crossly making a big dinner because you were ready to drown your sexual frustration in cabernet and beef stroganoff. Your eyes kept moving back to where you knew the sensors were, but the area surrounding the cabin stayed dark. You should feel better now, right? If it’s dark, there’s nothing out there. Why did that seem completely back-asswards? Taking the stroganoff and wine out to the porch, you settled yourself in one of the huge, comfortable chairs with a woolen throw over your legs. Gaze set on the woods, you absently ate your meticulously prepared dinner and didn’t taste a single bite. When the wine and a full stomach mellowed your pissy attitude, you leaned back, letting the faint sounds of night soothe you. Sure, you were half-drunk, but that sometimes was the best way to write, even though your editor would not have agreed with that assessment. Carefully settling your laptop on your lap, you opened a new document. 

_She’d always preferred the sunlight, when it was hard to hide who you truly were, where the shadows couldn’t disguise all the ugly, cruel parts everyone tried to pretend weren’t there…_

“Why are you out here? You should be inside, it’s not safe.”

Opening your eyes, you were unsurprised to see the little clearing around the cabin lit up like it was noon, with an aggravated Steve standing at the bottom of the steps, hands on hips and - yes, thank you! - no shirt again.

Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands. “Whatever, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Cranky. The only scary thing I see in this yard is you.”

You swallowed down a scream as he was suddenly in front of you, grabbing your laptop before it fell off the chair. “You’re being a bad girl,” Steve said harshly, a frown marring that gorgeous face. “Everyone around you is trying to keep you safe, and you fall asleep on the porch? Why worry about your stalker? A _bear_ will eat you.”

His face was so close to yours. You could smell the sharp bite of pine, something spicy, like a very expensive cologne, and an ... undefinable. Darker, mossy, smelling like earth and things forgotten. “Are you trying to keep me safe, lumberjack Steve?”

That set him back on his booted heels, a slight grin hiding in his smooth beard. “Did … you just call me a _lumberjack?”_

“Lumberjack Steve,” you corrected, waving your hands a little vaguely. “It’s this whole look you’ve got going on.”

One huge hand went to the back of his head, absently smoothing his hair. “That’s new.” The blue gaze fixed on you again. “Are you going to be a good girl and go inside, or do I have to carry you?”

You must really be dreaming, because you lean back, putting your arms over the back of the chair. “Make me.”

So, he does.

Throwing you over his shoulder as you shriek in fear and excitement, Steve leaps lightly through the door and races up the stairs to your bedroom. You are not a feather-light fairy princess. You are sturdy. You have muscle. But this gigantic, gorgeous thing is leaping up the staircase like you’re no heavier than a pillow, and your midsection is bouncing rather painfully on his broad shoulder. But then you’re airborne and landing on your bed in a tangle of arms and legs and this terrifying, massive creature is on top of you, covering you completely.

“For someone who’s in so much danger all the time, you have no sense of self-preservation, little girl.” He growled it into your ear while yanking off your clothes, your soft cotton undies ripping under his fist. 

The feel of the rough denim of his jeans on the thin skin of your inner thighs distracted you from any meaningful retort, though you noticed when you tightened your legs around his lean hips, they thrust forward, pushing his hard cock against you. You did moan a little when his mouth settled over yours, stroking and nibbling and forcing yours open with his tongue. His lips were so soft … the only soft part of him, really. He grabbed the top of his shirt and pulled it off, and lifted his hips, shoving his cock back up against you in a considerate sort of way as he removed his jeans, already embarrassingly wet in the crotch. But when Steve’s mouth went to your nipple, you whimpered a bit. 

He pulled back instantly, looking at your expression. “Shhh … we don’t have to do that tonight.” One long fingertip was circling your other breast, the areola, pushing a bit harder to turn that soft center into a pebble. “Not when there’s so many places to nibble you, little girl.”

Steve was there one second, and then the next his bearded face was pressed between your spread legs, despite your protestations.

“Oh, my god Steve, wait! I-” 

He was sucking on your lower lips, darting that agile tongue in and out of your channel and more alarmingly, you felt a hint, just the tip of a sharp … thing. Razor-sharp - that couldn’t be a tooth because it was slicing into your thigh, into your femoral artery as two thick fingers burrowed greedily up your cunt and you let out a scream, well, you’d intended to scream, but the breath was knocked out of you the first time you came. Your fingers dug into his hair but instead of pushing him away, you felt your treacherous grasp pulling him closer to you, nestling him between your thighs with a blissful purr. 

Your eyes opened and stared up at the stars through the skylight. This was real. This wasn’t a dream. Steve Rogers, Irritable Handyman was doing something magical with those fingers of his but that was nothing compared to the intensity of his mouth on your inner thigh. You could feel his beard gently scratching against your swollen slit, one arm thrown over your hips to hold you down. It stung, it burned but you were still coming because of the combination of all of those things. The final touch was a long, slow swipe of what felt like an inordinately long tongue up the slim furrow of your cunt and circling your most sensitive bits with a slow, loud slurp. By then, all you could do was shudder blissfully, moaning a little.

The scrape of Steve’s beard moved up your stomach, between your breasts and then he was hovering over you. Those full, pink lips that had impressed you so much were shiny and dark. When he kissed you, thrusting his tongue roughly into your mouth you tasted the bright, sharp tang of new pennies and realized it was your blood. 

“No…” you tried to turn your face away.

“Yes,” Steve countered, resting more his weight on you, he eyed you, amused. “You don’t want to taste yourself? This is real, Aura. And you’re so delicious…” He drew out the last word, lids lowering as he ran his tongue over his wet lips, savoring the last traces of your blood.

You wondered if you’d gone off the deep end again and hadn’t gotten the memo. “You d- drank my blood? Seriously, you bit into my thigh and…” you trailed off. God, you sounded completely nuts. But your hands still had a death grip on those spectacular biceps of his and your legs were parted by one of his, a hugely muscled thigh pushed firmly against your center, still throbbing and wet. “Am I wet because you turned me on,” you managed, “or would that be my blood because I’m a little freaked out right now.”

“Then I’ll distract you,” he smiled, and your scream strangled in your throat as he flashed a hint of fang. His mouth fastened over your as his cock slid up inside you. It was taking some work getting all of Steve inside you, and he hooked your knees on his arms and pulled you wider.

“I’m not-” god, could this man kiss, “I’m not a wishbone, you can’t fit that-”

“Yes I can,” Steve promised, his hips doing a diabolical swirling motion that was bringing more and more of his shaft in, then out, then in again in graceful, small movements that were completely out of character for this gigantic … what the hell … like … you couldn’t say _vampire._ You couldn’t. But he chuckled, it was rich and smug and made you want to smack him. “You can. You can call me that if you want. But just Steve is better. Or Sir…” he gave another hard thrust, enjoying your yelp, “Or Daddy…”

You actually put your hand over your mouth, eyes wide like that would do the trick.

“Aw … you’re shy. I can read your mind honey, even if you keep your mouth shut.” Steve leaned back onto his heels against his ass, looking down appreciatively at his cock wedged inside you. Slowly sliding back inside you, he took pity on your horrified expression. “Not all the time,” he allowed. “But when we’re connected like this?” There was an extra force behind the push this time with a bit of an extra grind as his hips thrust forward. One calloused thumb released your leg to gently stroke your unreasonably - still! - aroused clitoris. “All the things I learn about you, Aura. All your secrets, your places inside that make you scream and come. How this…” his thumb was still stroking that spot and you were battling the need to let your eyes roll back and come again. “This little bit of you needs to be handled gently, huh? Delicately. You’re so sensitive, little girl.” This seemed to arouse him even more and his hips moved rapidly, in and out of you, in and out, pause, then a long, silky, slow slide to the top of you that made your back arch and you gave out a cross between a whimper and a groan.

“Oh, my GOD this is all too weird!” 

Steve had the gall to shake his head, deeply amused. “I can promise that I’m not that last thing, so don’t call me that any more.” He leaned in close, so close that you could see the changes in his face. His cheekbones were sharper, oddly elevated, full mouth drawn back from hugely elongated canines, still smeared pinkish with what you assumed was your blood. And his eyes … oh, shit. His eyes were black. There was a color you’d heard about once, a video with a color so black that anything put on top of it disappeared, so black that it absorbed all the light. 

Vantablack. 

Steve’s eyes were Vantablack, and as you came, thrashing and gasping, you fell into those eyes, absorbed utterly with nothing left to catch the sun’s rays as they made their first, hesitant foray over the mountain.


	4. Nothing Darker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you question your sanity.

Like the two previous days, you woke up alone, a little sticky and again certain you’d not been the only one bouncing on your mattress the night before.

Rolling over and groaning, you looked out the huge window by your bed. Apparently you were getting used to being ravished because you didn’t need as much sleep. It was early afternoon and you felt surprisingly … perky? Putting a cautious hand to your inner thigh, you frowned. The thin, delicate skin there was unmarred. You didn’t feel exhausted and draggy, the way you had when you’d given blood on a whim during Red Cross Day in college.

“So, this is ridiculous,” you told yourself. “You’re being a sexually deprived nutjob and your subconscious is picking the closest, hottest thing to focus on. I’ll go for my run early, get the blood moving back into this withered brain and do some writing!” You frowned. “At least the dreams were really freaking vivid, huh?”

This time, you took the path down to the main road and turned in the opposite direction. You’ll just try this way instead, maybe you did get turned around the other day, so, you’ll stick to the main road and- your bear repellant canister slipped and nearly fell out of the loop on your running shorts. Sighing as you re-settled it, you looked around to see a couple of smaller side roads, probably leading off to the other palatial cabins in the settlement. Tightening your ponytail, you took off again.

Yeah. You could do this “reclusive writer thing.” No one to bother you but the sexy as hell handyman. The air was thin and crisp, it made you feel sharper, more alert and you started running with more confidence, really pushing into the steep grade of the road and feeling your thighs and calves burn with the effort. This time, you made it as far as two miles - according to your Fitbit - and you leaned over, hands on knees as you took some deeper breaths. “I know where I am,” you announced confidently, “my cabin is two miles east and I’m going to make a 180 and head right back on this here main road and-”

“Are you lost?”

You gave humiliating little squawk that sounded like an aggrieved pigeon. “You scared me!” you accused, putting your hand on your heaving chest.

The man had crept up on you in his stupidly silent Tesla, some fancy model that probably cost a ridiculous amount of money. “Sorry,” he said, stopping the car. 

The door floated upward and you laughed despite yourself. “What the hell is that?”

He was shorter, close to your height with dark hair and a goatee and brown, inquisitive eyes. “Those are falcon-wing doors. This is an X P100d,” he said, brow arched. Thrusting out a hand, he offered, “Kevin Sykes. My place is up there.” His head nodded to the side road you’d just noticed.

“Oh, well,” you awkwardly held out your hand. “Hi, I’m Aura Ellory, and-”

“Wait, no shit?” Kevin interrupted you, “Aura Ellory the writer?”

Man, you hated this part, never knowing if they were going to be all weird about it. “Uh, yeah?”

“I love your books!” Kevin said with real enthusiasm. He was looking at you even more closely now, and you just knew he’d read about your “psychotic event.”

“Oh, thank you,” forcing a smile, you nodded, “I appreciate that.” You took a step backward like you were about to get running again, but the man took a step forward, putting his hands in his pockets.

“So, are you working on something new? _2AM_ was my favorite. I could not tell how that was going to all come back together. Great work!”

  
Tucking some hair behind your ear, you smiled uncertainly. This was just a fan. A nice interaction. You could handle this. “Well, yes, actually. This is the followup to-”

 _“Nothing Darker?”_ Kevin finished for you.

“Hey, do you know my agent or something?” you tried to joke. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

His dark, intrusive stare softened as if he finally realized he was making you uncomfortable. “Oh, sorry. I just got excited. No, I don't know your agent but that book ended on a cliffhanger, so... The last thing I expected when heading out for a hammer and a wrench was meeting my favorite author. I promise I won’t say a word.”

Shaking one sneakered foot, then the other, you tried to chat, like a normal person would. Like a person who picked up on conversational cues and hadn’t spent all that time learning how to sleep without waking up screaming. “Oh? Something wrong at your palatial pile of timber?”

Kevin chuckled politely. “Yeah, one of the doors is swollen shut from all the moisture. I’m not much of a repair guy, but I figure I can handle it.”

“Why not just get handyman Steve to take care of it?” you said, “Isn’t that what he’s getting paid for?”

The man frowned. “Who’s handyman Steve?”

“Well…” you tilted your head, “Steve. You know, the lumberjack looking guy, gigantic? He met me on my first night and showed me all the breakers and the generator and stuff? Put up my security perimeter?”

Kevin leaned against his $202,000 Tesla, folding his arms. “Well, I’ve had a vacation place here on the mountain longer than anyone in this resort. I know the owner. There’s no handyman Steve. The last guy was Martin, some crazy Italian guy who got married again and went back to the old country.” He chuckled, “Which was bullshit, since I know for a fact he’s from Wisconsin.”

Your head felt too light, like it might float away. “But- that’s impossible. I’ve seen him like three nights in a row.” _I think,_ you added silently, “He’s definitely an employee here, he’s spoken to my agent and everything?”

“Well,” Kevin said slowly, “I don’t think that’s possible. But, hey. Maybe your agent hired someone from outside the property to give you a hand. Anyway, I’ve got to get down the mountain and back before it gets dark. Driving this road at night is suicidal, there’s crap everywhere.”

“Oh, sure…” you said absently. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kevin Sykes. I’d better get going. You know. Again.”

That inquiring stare was back. “Well, Aura Ellory, nice to meet you, too. We usually have a big summer party, I’ll drop off an invitation.”

“Sure, okay.” You just wanted to get out of there. You wanted to get back to your cabin and think this through. You didn’t want to freak out in front of this rich guy who’d go back and tell his other rich friends that those articles were true, you were crazy. 

Your steps felt a little unsteady on the way back, the confidence that built slowly from the beginning of your run seeping away again. When you were at the Haha Hotel, Dr. Frisch told you to walk back through what you knew and go from there.

  1. Steve said he was the handyman for the enclave of wealthy homes. 
  2. He had a cabin here, not three miles from yours. 
  3. He knew the investor who bought the whole mountain.



So … maybe Kevin Sykes just didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. The obscenely rich often didn’t even know the names of the people who made their beds or scrubbed their toilets. He was probably just one of those. Yeah.

You were so into your process of ramping down your anxiety that you hadn’t noticed passing the turnoff to your cabin. The sun was hovering dangerously low by the time you figured it out and you sighed, turning around and pulling out your phone. You’d check your GPS and that pin Steve dropped on your cabin’s location. Just to be sure. Looking to the side of the road, you could see the mist rising from the ferns. It was later than you’d thought. Putting an extra burst into your pace, you watched your location on the GPS. You were moving closer to your destination. You were just fine. It was dusk now and the forest was quieter, the birds settling down for the night, the iridescent green dragonflies who’d been swooping in circles above your head disappeared. 

“Bats,” you announced as your chest heaved, trying to drag in more of the thin mountain air. “Bats, they…” your pace didn’t falter, even though it was getting harder to breathe, “they eat the dragonflies when they come out at night. So the dragonflies play until it gets dark and then they fly home to be safe.” Your grip on your phone was tight enough to cause a ripple on the screen, but you didn’t notice. “B- bats can eat up to 12,000 insects a night. Their appetites are voracious.” You liked bats. You watched them swoop and soar from your deck, the stretch of strong wings expanding as they plummeted for a bug. But right now, you wished you were like the dragonflies, home and safe. How could you have lost time like that? You should have had another two hours of daylight, at least! 

You hadn’t lost time since you stopped sleeping. You _were_ sleeping. Those carnal as hell dreams proved that. Even though they _felt_ real, like it was happening. “Yeah, Aura,” you wheezed, feet still flying along the road, “they’re real, sure. The handyman is a vampire and he sucked blood from your femoral artery while eating you out. Yeah. That makes complete sense.”

The toe of your running shoe hit a rock embedded in the road, and you went flying, a surprisingly graceful arc that ended with you landing in an ungainly heap in the ferns. Your phone flew from your hand and you stared up at the night sky, the breath knocked out of you. “Okay, you j- just…” painfully sitting up, you brushed the dirt and pebbles off your hands. “Take stock. Everything okay? Legs… arms...” you sniffled, angry at yourself for crying.

 _What a mess you are,_ your mother’s voice whispered.

“I’m not a mess!” you snapped back.

“Why do you keep ending up here?”

This time, you didn’t scream when the giant shadow of lumberjack handyman Steve separated from the dark trees and strode over to you. You were too busy crying, angry crying, sad crying, am I crazy crying.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, Handyman Steve, I’m in great shape,” you snapped, angrily swiping at your tears. Anger. Anger was good. “I just tripped on something in the road.”

He was standing, well more like looming over you, his hands on his hips and looking down at you, head tilted. “You’re hurt. Come on.” His hugely muscled arms slid under you and lifted you effortlessly, already turning and heading to his cabin before you registered what was happening.

“Wait! My phone, I dropped it. I need it, Steve- I always have to-”

Nudging his front door open, he interrupted you, “I’ll get it. Let me clean you up first.” Looking down, you could see that there was a long scrape along your calf and your knee was bleeding. Steve felt you stiffen into concrete and a small smile curled one corner of his mouth. Setting you down gently on a big leather sofa - so big that you felt a bit like a child sitting there because you couldn’t lean back and still have your feet touch the floor - he knelt in front of you, lifting the wounded leg. “This isn’t bad,” he announced. He was back in a moment with a small first aid kit. Blowing the dust off the lid and making you cough a bit, Steve set about cleaning the blood off your knee. You could see his nostrils flare slightly, but his expression stayed neutral. 

“I wasn’t lost,” you said defensively. “I just … lost track of time so I was even using the pin you’d dropped on my GPS and it got dark sooner than I’d expected, that’s all.”

His broad shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. “Your cabin is that way.” He pointed over his back in the opposite direction of his house. You were about to snap at him when Steve did a strange - at least for him - thing. He leaned in and blew gently on the scrape, drying the antiseptic, and placed the bandage over it. Looking up at you, his vivid gaze was kinder than you’d seen before. "Sit here and catch your breath. I’ll go find your phone.”

Looking around at the silent room after he left, you were a little surprised. Most handymen surely didn’t live this well. The sofa and the rest of the oversized leather furniture was a weathered camel color, with an exquisite oriental carpet, colors muted slightly by age but in perfect condition. The rock fireplace took up a third of one wall, and a custom-made series of bookcases took up the only wall without windows. Hundreds of books. Maybe thousands. The little you could see into the kitchen showed expensive appliances - stainless steel fridge, and a beautiful Viking stove that looked brand-new. “Huh…” you chewed your lip thoughtfully, “maybe I should learn how to handle power tools in case I can’t write again.”

“You’re a writer?”

You jumped and gave a little yelp. Steve was standing over you- how the hell did that man move so silently? “Is it a point of pride for lumberjack-handymen to move without a sound? It’s like you’re sneaking up on a deer every time I see you.”

“Maybe you should be more alert,” he said sourly, handing you your phone. “Bad news, I don’t know if you landed on it but you’re going to need a new one.”

Your alarmed gaze rose to his. “I have to have a phone!” Yes, you were being a little dramatic but your phone was your lifeline, “How did it break? I didn’t land that hard and it’s in a case!” The silver phone was a lost cause, a jagged crack running up the glass and what your AT&T guy called “the blue screen of death.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, but if you can afford that cabin of yours, you can afford a new phone. Don’t worry, we get delivery up here.”

“Yeah, okay…” you were cautiously getting up, flexing your leg. “Well, my knee feels much better. Thank you and I’m sorry I ended up in your front yard again.”

One dark brow rose and he said the oddest thing. “Well, something’s calling you here.” You stared at each other for another moment and you stepped back.

“I’m just … going to leave now. Thanks again.”

He sighed the sigh of a man long put-upon. “Get in the truck.”

That night you were focused. Mostly. You ordered a new phone online, pointedly getting one with a fancier GPS feature. It should arrive within two days. You groaned. Two days. That was a lifetime for you. You checked on your refill orders with your Seattle pharmacy, they’d be re-routed here, too. You sent an email to James' assistant, inquiring whether she'd found the handyman or he worked for the resort. You didn't believe Rich Guy Kevin, but why would he lie? You didn’t need groceries. You clicked on Amazon, scrolling through some of your competitor’s latest books, absently checking their sales count. Then there was nothing left to do but…

“Crap,” you sighed, “it’s either work on the book or write that Walden Pond homework assignment for James, which is so stupid. Thanks, Professor Barnes.” The image of your expensively suited agent writing on a blackboard, wearing a tweed jacket with patches on the arms was suddenly hilarious and you giggled. You hadn’t laughed much recently and it felt good. “Okay, so we write.”

Instead, you typed ‘Vampire’ in your search bar and watched as the results began to scroll, and scroll, and keep scrolling down the page. You read the rest of the night, the myths and fallacies, well-reasoned arguments from researchers who were adamant there was such a creature. A couple of lurid erotic short stories. You read about all the places they could feed, including the inside of the thigh, the nipple- “The nipple, which is considered a delicacy to some vampires?” you said, shaking your head at the text. Your own gave a corresponding twinge and you rubbed it absently. 

Abruptly, your entire perimeter lit up like the Fourth of July as a huge owl soared up, sailing regally over the shed holding the generator for the house and back again, landing on the railing close to your window, shaking its feathers and settling itself. You sucked in a breath as its head turned abruptly, seemingly looking right in the window and at you. 

You waved awkwardly. “Hey.”

When your feathery sentinel didn’t move, you went back to your monitor, sneaking glances every few moments. “So, I have to question if I’m losing it again,” you announced, not sure if you were talking to the owl or yourself. “If lumberjack handyman Steve is a vampire and he’s been feeding on me like a human Slushee, then … wait. So am I crazy for believing he’s a bloodsucker or because he’s not the resort handyman but is instead … what? What is wrong with me?” You buried your head in your hands and sighed. When you lifted your head, the owl was gone. Slowly, you typed in ‘how to block vampires from your house.’

_“An invitation is a magical weakness from the original vampire tales that prevents vampiric beings from entering a dwelling without permission from the occupant. Once permission has been given, it cannot be rescinded without following the ritual to…”_

By the time you looked up again, you could barely keep your eyes open and the sun was high over the pines outside. Dragging yourself upstairs, you took a shower before falling instantly asleep.


	5. I Revoke My Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we all find out who Aura's stalker is. Believe me, it's as much a surprise to her as it is to us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings here for blood and violence. If this triggers you, move to the next chapter. You'll catch up with the action.

When you woke the next afternoon, it was actually a little disappointing to not feel tender and a little sticky. “Yeah, that’s not weird at all,” you groaned, rising stiffly from the bed.

A hot shower, enough coffee to make your heart tap-dance on your ribs and a clear blue sky made you hum a little as you walked out on the porch to see a mail truck driving away. “Maybe my phone’s come early?” You skipped down the stairs, feeling unreasonably cheerful and optimistic. Opening the mailbox, you pulled out a small, square box with your pharmacy’s logo in the return slot. “Oh, good,” you mumbled, remembering the last time you got behind on your anxiety meds and antidepressants. Still, one day you hoped to start tapering down, maybe. You felt confused more than you liked and fuzzy sometimes.

“An unavoidable side effect,” your pharmacist had assured you. “It gets better.”

No phone, damnit, but there was a large manila envelope and you tucked it under your arm as you headed back to the cabin. Putting it next to the laptop, you checked your email, still humming a little as you had yet another cup of coffee. “Maybe it’s time to cut back on the brew,” you mused, “I can feel my teeth vibrating.” Picking up the large envelope, you frowned a little when you realized it didn’t have postage on it, or a return address.

“Oh, please…” you whispered. Opening the flap with surprisingly steady hands, you found a neatly written letter. Hand-written. He always wrote that way, saying it was more personal. And in that orderly text, he would list out the things he was going to do to you. 

_“You really think I wouldn’t find you? You ridiculous, foolish sow. I’ll take my time, now that you’re out here in the wild. No one hearing you scream and choke. I really should thank you for making it so easy for me.”_

There were pictures, like always. One of you running down the road, another where you were lounging on the big front porch with a book on your lap. One was clearly taken last night, outside the window where you were hunched over your laptop, the light shining down on you.

_“I could have killed you at any time. You know that, don’t you…”_

You dropped the pictures on the floor, pushing them away with your big toe. “H- how did he…” You barely made it to the kitchen sink to empty all that expensive coffee from your heaving stomach. Sitting on the floor, you forced yourself to think. Suspects. “Think like you’re actually writing the damn book, Aura!” Pulling a marker off the counter above you, you made the list on the white tile floor. 

After staring at the list again, you scuttled back to your laptop, trying to put in a call to James. You groaned when it went to voicemail, _“Hey, James. I’ve got - there’s another letter here. It wasn’t mailed someone dropped it in my mailbox. That means he’s- he’s here on the mountain, James! And I don’t have a phone it broke and-”_ you took a deep breath. Don’t freak out. _“I need to know. Did you hire Steve the handyman? ‘Cause there’s another resident here that says he’s never heard of him. Please, please contact me. The only other guy who knows who I am is the resident, Kevin, uh, Kevin Sykes. Contact me as soon as you get this, okay? Should I call the police? I don’t… I don’t know who to trust!”_ Hoofing it up the stairs, you pulled the gun and clip from under the bed. You managed to slam the clip into the magazine and holding the gun up like you’d been taught, you slithered down the stairs. Grabbing your purse, you ran out the front door and to the jeep.

“Oh, nonononono!” The jeep’s hood was open and it looked like a giant’s hand had reached in and casually ripped out half the engine.

Back into the house. Forcing yourself to holster the weapon while you locked all the doors, checked the windows and pulled the curtains closed.

You jumped when the pounding on the door started again.

“Aura! Open the damn door! Are you okay?”

It was Steve. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Your traitorous heart was angling toward relieved. 

“What are you doing here, Steve!” you shouted at the door, picturing him impatiently pacing on the other side, big ol’ hands on his hips.

“I got a call from your agent. He was freaking out and talking about the stalker and a letter - I didn’t get it all because he was talking so fast. What is happening? Open the goddamn door!”

You shifted from foot to foot. James called him… Opening the door, you hastily stepped back, pointing the gun at him. “Don’t move!”

He seemed even more gigantic in the shadows from the pines filtering the last rays of the sun, blond hair falling a bit into those vivid eyes as he looked at the gun with incredulity. “Why don’t you put that down before you shoot yourself?” Steve said calmly, “Your hands are shaking.”

“No, I’m not putting the gun down,” you shaped each word carefully, making them firm and authoritative, like your self-defense coach taught you. “I got another letter from my stalker, he sent- wait. Did I really tell you about that or was that a dream, or...?” You were blinking away tears. _Oh god, maybe I am crazy…_

“Yes, you told me.” His voice was suddenly deeper, and running his tongue along his lower lip, Steve leaned in slightly. “Now what did he say?”

But the blood was draining from your face, leaving you pale and you swayed a bit. “If I told you about the stalker, then that-” What, Steve really was a vampire? That you’d had phenomenal sex with a vampire lumberjack handyman and… Or, or did you just tell him during a normal conversation but you don’t remember it because the dream was hotter than reality, or…? You bit the inside of your cheek, hard, and straightened your elbows again, tightening your grip on the gun. “So you put up the big fancy perimeter security lights. They lit up for an owl last night, but not for whoever took a picture of me sitting in front of the window! He’s gonna carve me up, he’s…” Gritting your teeth, you looked at his dark eyes, brows drawn together in concern? Confusion? 

“Aura,” he said slowly, “put down the gun, and let’s talk. I will keep you safe.”

“Really,” you scoffed, “I’m not letting you take away my only protection.”

Steve made a noise. It was low, but it traveled up through your spine and set off warning bells all through your nervous system, making your overtaxed adrenal glands feel like they were exploding.

It was a growl. Something low from his chest and when you caught his expression you took a step back. He was looking up at you from under his brows, chin lowered and fists clenched. “Aura,” he was slow and precise, as if holding onto whatever still made him look human. “Put the gun down and listen to me. You’re shaking and you could hurt yourself.”

Your eyes darted from him to your jeep, the hood still open. It would have taken a huge amount of strength to tear out whatever chunk of engine that was currently lying on the ground and leaking oil into your flowerbed. “Steve, you are no longer welcome here.” His entire face darkened, like a shadow over the moon.

“Aura-”

“You are no longer welcome here. I revoke my invitation!” You slammed the door shut, feeling vaguely stupid for the dramatic gesture but you weren’t sure what was supposed to happen. You could hear a roar of frustrated fury outside, but then silence. Locking the door, you went back to your laptop. 

_“James, where are you? Please contact me. I think the handyman, I think Steve is my stalker it all makes sense and if I also tell you what I think he is you’ll think I’m gone over the edge again so please-”_

“So if this was a movie,” you mumbled, a little dizzy from all the adrenaline and an empty stomach, “people would wonder why I haven’t called the police. Well, of the 136 calls I made to the police in Seattle and everywhere else this psycho sent me letters, they could never find a thing. No one lurking outside, no DNA on the letters, no clues. Which…” you chuckled humorlessly and wiped your sweaty hands on your jeans, holstering your gun. “...which meant they decided I was sending them to myself. Maybe a publicity stunt? But then they started fining me for making a false report to the police. And I paid them and still kept calling until they told me they’d arrest me for the next call. James told me not to do it any more. That I’d pop up as an attention-seeking nutjob wherever I was calling from.” You still remembered the humor and contempt from the officers who’d show up, taking a look at the latest letter and photos showing you running, or eating at a cafe or sitting at home. How they’d put the envelope in an evidence bag and seal it, assuring you they’d “look into it.” You already felt crazy. You already _were_ crazy, probably. You didn’t need anyone else telling you that. Granted, the desecration of the jeep was new. 

So, maybe tonight was the night.

You paced back and forth at the windows facing the front of the cabin. The back looked out on a fairly steep dropoff, so you suspected the attack would be straight on. But the perimeter Steve - the guy who actually might kill you tonight and wasn’t that an irony? - had put up remained dark, no movement.

“Of course,” you mused, running your hand over and over through your hair, “if Steve really is … the … oh, the v-word because I can’t say that out loud, maybe he can fly? But he can’t come in. I did the ritual.” Almost on cue, your nipple and the inside of your thigh where Steve had feasted from you in your dreams started throbbing. “S- s- so I just have to keep awake ‘till morning and I can walk the hell right out of here. Maybe Weird Kevin is still in residence. I can do that.” You’d always questioned why your stalker had picked you. What you could have possibly done to spark his obsession and his hate. Dr. Frisch finally convinced you it didn’t matter. You’d likely never know. And it didn’t matter. He either killed you, or you lived. Your hand went to the gun at your hip. For the first time, you were pretty sure you shoot to kill. You could.

After all your preparations, it really seemed unfair when the arm went around your chest and a needle into your neck before you even registered the presence behind you.

“Wakey wakey, sow. Time to die.”

Your eyes burned as they opened, and you blinked several times, trying to focus. You were on your bed, arms handcuffed to the headboard and legs tied to the bottom posts. The cuffs were tight and cutting into the skin on your wrists. You were still dressed, thank god. “Who-?” you croaked, turning your head and trying to find the owner of your very rude wakeup call. “No. Not-”

The man crouching at the foot of the bed wore a huge smile, almost as big as the knife he was holding. The overhead light gleamed off his mostly bald scalp. “Why? Why would you…” You were crying and it was humiliating but you couldn’t help it. He’d always been so nice to you. He’d answer questions quietly and kindly so no one in line would hear. Your confusion about your meds and the side effects and questions you couldn’t ask your psychiatrist, who was there simply to ask if you were sleeping or if you had any suicidal thoughts, then briskly wrote out your new batch of prescriptions and sent you on your way. He would listen and smile.

“You fucking, self-absorbed bitch,” Mr. Hargreaves snarled. Your pharmacist was looking at you with complete disgust. “Always whining and crying, poor you!” he mocked in a high voice, “My life is so hard, Mr. Hargreaves, no one loves me. I’m so depressed!” He stood up abruptly, pacing irritably at the foot of the bed, back and forth, back and forth and you were dizzy anyway. “I knew from the first time I saw you what an entitled, stuck-up sow you were.”

You were flushed, hot, and still crying, feeling so unutterably stupid. You bought the pharmacy staff lunch every time you came for meds, and you donated money quietly so he could use the funds for seniors who couldn’t afford all their medications. “I trusted you,” you managed, “I thought-”

“SHUT UP!” he suddenly screamed at you, straddling you on the bed and waving that gigantic knife dangerously close. “No more fucking whining! It’s all you do!”

Pressing your lips together, you fought against a deranged little giggle. So, not only were you going to be killed in a really horrible way - you were quite clear on that, based on your psycho pharmacist’s meticulously detailed plans in past letters - but you’d also blocked the only person who could save you from entering the house. Even for you, this was a screwup of epic proportions.

"I'll bet you didn't even use that money I gave you for the senior's prescriptions, did you?" What possessed you to blurt that out? You were definitely crazy.

And he had the gall to look offended. "How dare you say that? Of course, I did! Mrs. Myron's arthritis meds especially, Methotrexate is $12,000 a year! And Oscar Jiminez, we've been controlling his diabetes with Liraglutide, and that's $720 monthly so- wait. SHUT UP! Just shut the hell up!" He was pacing back and forth in front of you, pulling at what remained of his hair and gesticulating with his knife. "What kind of professional do you think I am!"

You were trying to think of everything you’d written about being taken captive. You were supposed to tell them your name, talk about your family and your life so they would have to see you as a person. So they’d be less likely to kill you. None of this was going to work with Mr. Hargreaves, who along with being a complete dick and a lunatic, also already knew about your lack of family, what you did for a living and - god, he even knew about the time you had to get a morning-after pill and he was the one to gently suggest you get a birth-control shot so “You won’t have to worry about it, dear.”

Hargreaves was still ranting as he headed for the door. "I'm going to get a drink of water and calm down. But..." his smile returned. "I'll give you something to think about." That huge knife you'd been eyeing slammed down into the back of your calf, cutting through it and digging into the bed. You let out a scream that rattled the windows and Hargreaves nodded approvingly. "That's right. You just think about it. I’m going to go have a sandwich.”

Sobbing, you held your leg motionless, trying to think of what to do. The pain was blinding, but the wet of your blood soaking into the bed seemed even more gruesome. “Wh- what do I do?” you whispered, “Okay, ahhhh-!” Your foot twitched involuntarily and you but back another scream, “Okay, okay, okay, uh… the handcuffs.” You’d researched getting out of handcuffs for one of your books and even tried it yourself. It worked, but the physical therapist who had to put your hand back together was not impressed. 

You looked up at your right hand. You were left-handed, so it made sense to injure your non-dominant hand. “The CMC joint is the point where the wrist c- can’t slip through the cuff,” you thought you were whispering, you hoped so. “The first CMC controls the first m- metacarpal in the wrist- ah, _god!”_ You forced your hand against the bed’s headboard and pushed as hard as you could, watching the grotesque splay of your thumb over the top of your hand. “The f- first metacarpal will roll backward, taking the first MPC out of place…” You were sweating, but it was freezing. Pulling your distorted hand slowly from the cuff, you gritted your teeth and smacked it against the headboard again, putting it back in place. You knew there was some significant ligament damage from how fast the hand was swelling, but your numb fingers curled around the knife’s handle and weeping soundlessly, you forced yourself to pull it out exactly as it had gone in. “Most knife wounds are exa- exa- exacerbated by pulling the blade out at another angle, causing more damage…” your lips were moving, but you weren’t sure you made any sound. The wound was bleeding sluggishly, and you knew Psycho Pharmacist did it that way deliberately. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out before all the good stuff. You awkwardly managed to saw through the ropes on one leg, then the other, angling over to the left side of your bed. “Bobby pin,” you whispered. You couldn’t fight him off with two swollen hands. You set down the knife to reach up to the sloppy bun you'd twisted your hair into that afternoon.

_____________

Steve was growling, low in his chest again, loping along the terrain, looking for any signs of Aura’s stalker. Who was this son of a bitch? It wasn’t Kevin, the only other resident she’d met on the mountain. The man was too stoned most of the time to even change the channel on his massive tv. It was constantly on QVC every time Steve saw him. He was prowling along the back of the house when his head went up. She was screaming, high, and agonized. And then it hit him in a wave of beautiful, sweet insanity. Her blood.  
  


____________

“What are you doing?” roared Hargreaves, sandwich in hand as he stomped into the room. “How dare you, you miserable sow!” 

You leaned back against the bedpost you were still cuffed to, raising the big knife and pointing at him. “I will cut you in half! Don’t you-”

And then behind the enraged pharmacist, there was a crash of broken glass and then the towering presence of Steve. He gripped the stunned man’s throat and lifted him as easily as lifting that sandwich, up, over his head so the balding head of your would-be murderer was brushing the vaulted ceiling of your bedroom. “You hurt her?” His voice sounded more like the rumble you’d heard from him earlier, less human, more like a snarl. Hargreaves was trying to scream, desperately reaching behind him and pulling out another knife, which he plunged into Steve's broad shoulder. Looking down, he chuckled, pulling the knife out and stabbing it into Hargreaves’ leg, right where he’d wounded you. Jerking the flailing man to him, Steve’s head went back, and you watched as his jaw appeared to elongate to fit the bristle of very long, sharp teeth jammed into his mouth. His eyes rolled back and he bit the pharmacist in the juncture between neck and shoulder, carelessly yanking a chunk of meat and gristle loose as he drank. You could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed the blood pouring from the wound.

Then his eyes turned to you, seeing your pale face and opened mouth, balancing on one leg and holding a pillowcase to the other. His eyes were fathomless. Vantablack. He threw Hargreaves casually into the hall with a wet-sounding thud and headed for you. His eyes were blue again when he reached you, the color of the afternoon sky he never saw. 

“Did he stab you anywhere else?” Steve was running those giant, capable-looking hands over you- arms and legs, running along your sides and your neck, cupping your cheek. “Aura? Look at me, baby.”

You were staring at the blood in his beard, little droplets in the neatly groomed hair. “Huh? Uh, no. My … the … my leg.” He looked at your hugely swollen right hand and you waved the left one casually, still trapped in the cuff. “Oh, that. I dislocated my hand to get it out of the cuff, so…” you were wavering and he caught you before you fell. His thumb and forefinger went to the steel cuff and he pinched it, crushing the lock and letting it spring open. Lifting you easily, he just held you in his arms for a moment, you felt his kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he said with genuine regret instead of his usually surly tone. 

“Oh, well…” you said, you were getting kind of dizzy and there were spots in your vision, blinking to try to clear them. “That’s okay, I was the one who did the stupid revocation ritual, so… Wait! How did you get in? I did the thing?”

Steve chuckled, putting you carefully on the non-bloody side of the bed. “I’ll explain later.” His expression clouded when he took a closer look at your face. “I think you’ve lost more blood than you know.”

Come to think of it, you were feeling really sleepy, and cold. And when you opened your eyes again, Steve was holding your injured leg and his mouth was on your wound. “Hey … what’re you…?” Then you felt his tongue, blazing hot, licking along the brutal slice in your calf. But the burn quickly faded, along with the painful throbbing and that gruesome trickle of blood running down your leg was gone. “You’re not … uh … snacking, right?” you slurred. His blonde head rose to look at you, and you weren’t surprised to see his eyes gone dark again, this time, you gladly fell into them, absorbed completely with nothing left to contrast against his gaze.

You felt so good. You really, really didn’t want to wake up because everything felt so nice. There was a fire crackling nearby, the burning wood fragrant. You were in a different bed, smooth sheets and pillows that smelled like Steve. Cautiously moving your leg, you didn’t feel any pain. Looking down at your right hand, the swelling was already down, and wiggling your fingers experimentally proved it was in perfect condition. Your brow wrinkled. You were such a slow healer, you should be in crap shape right now. How long had you been asleep? You had vague flashes of memory, carried in Steve’s arms, a warm cloth gently wiped over your face and body, your head lifted to drink something. Medicine? It tasted odd. Metallic.

“St-” you croaked, then laboriously cleared your throat to start again, but he was sitting next to you on the bed before you could try. 

“How are you feeling baby?” His tone was so kind. 

“Um, I’m okay,” you absently rubbed your eyes, “thank you for saving my life.”

Steve picked up your right hand, smoothing his rough fingers over the skin. “I should have been there sooner. I never should have left.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I didn’t know who to trust. I haven’t for a long time.”

“I know.” He kissed you slowly and you groaned a little. His lush mouth was warm on yours, his tongue sweeping lightly over your lower lip. 

“Hey-” you drew back, “how did you get in? I did the ritual?”

He laughed, throwing back that gorgeous head before kissing you again. “Most of the myths about my kind are crap. Desperate imagination. However, that ritual would have blocked me from your cabin. Except, you’re not the owner. I am.”

Your jaw dropped. “Get the hell out!”

Steve apparently found this even funnier. “I’m not going to, especially since this is my cabin. I bought the top of this mountain years ago and developed it. I never wanted any of these idiots calling me and whining because I was the owner, so I told everyone who came here that I was the handyman. The only calls I get are for the occasional snow plow issue or a cracked water line.”

“You slinky minx,” you said with admiration. You were quite aware, all of a sudden, of just how comfortable you were in Steve’s bed, how good the man - uh, vamp- you just couldn’t say the word, how good he smelled. His big hand was cradling the back of your head, smoothing your tangled hair. He was shirtless - again! - and wearing some thin sleep pants that hung enticingly low on his hips.

Kissing you again, Steve ran his hand down your neck, the rasping of rough fingertips against the thin skin there making you shiver. Two fingers trailed over the loose neck of your borrowed t-shirt and trailed over a nipple, rubbing it until it tightened. “How good do you feel?” His voice was rougher. Deeper.

“It depends,” you sigh, eyes drooping as he pinches your nipple. “Am I awake this time?”

His laughter shakes you a little as his broad chest settles over yours. The crisp hair on his chest rubs against your breast that he’d cajoled out of the shirt. “Yeah, little girl. You’re awake. And aware.” God, he was so warm against you, cheeks flushed, skin ruddy. And those plump lips descended on yours again for a lingering moment before he pulled away, examining your face. This time, you slid your fingers into his thick blond hair and pulled him back down, moaning against his mouth as his hands slid up your ribcage, taking his t-shirt with them. One, and then the other of your legs were thrown casually over his shoulders and you caught a glimpse of your calf- unmarred and perfect before teeth, lips and tongue were playing with your suddenly and embarrassingly wet center. You forgot to ask about your leg when two thick fingers slid inside you, stroking over your passage, pressing and very gently scratching pressure points that made you gasp and grip his shoulders, nails unknowingly digging in as you tried to anchor yourself. This was … reality, right? You were awake and this beautiful man - V word - lumberjack - whatever was suckling wickedly on your clit and it was making you wildly, terribly sensitive. But when you tried to edge away, a forearm, thick with muscle slammed down over your hips and held you in place. 

“Ah, ah,” Steve chided, “you be good and still for me. I have work to do here.” You started giggling helplessly as his mouth fastened over your center again, his tongue slurping a long, shameless lick from your back to your clit, then lips tightening over it again. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to come, but he only looked up with a wet beard and mischievous grin before dropping back to his work.

“Oh, god, Steve! You’re gonna kill me…” Your fingers were mindlessly carding through his hair as he brought you to another orgasm, and then one more before your grip on his thick locks was trying to pull him away from you. “Please,” you groaned, “I’m losing the feeling in my legs!” You felt the vibration of his laughter, muffled against your pussy, but he finally pulled away, absently swiping the back of his hand over your slick soaking his beard. 

“So sweet,” he said absently, “almost as sweet as your blood.” Chuckling at your sudden look of alarm, he went back on his heels, long legs folded and spread wide as he slid his forearms under your thighs, lifting you high and rubbing you against the sharply defined lines of muscle on his abdomen, each strumming your painfully sensitive clit like violin strings. 

Gripping your ass with both hands, he ran you up and down again before holding his cock and settling the head of it just inside you. Staring at you, Steve abruptly dropped you, sending his shaft spearing through you, his groans muffled by your startled shriek. “Oh! This is...” the words dribbled away from your slack lips as you felt the weight of him, the width of his cock stretch you wide. Your ass was nestled against his heavy scrotum, and he took a minute to stay inside you, rotating his hips lightly, as if searching for more room for him more, more ways to invade you. Wrapping your arms over his shoulders, you pressed your breasts against him, rubbed yourself against him shamelessly. You felt drunk. Cock drunk and it made you feel the same way, like you were flying, like your skin was too sensitive to wear, like you wanted to cross your legs and keep him inside you forever. But then Steve’s big hands were squeezing your ass again, lifting and dropping you, over and over until you could feel everything tighten again, your thighs, your arms, your lips pressed against his shoulder. When you felt one long finger circle your strained opening and gather your slick, you gasped when he slid the tip of it inside your ass. “No! Not there, Steve, there’s no more room down there!” you choked out, “I’m all full - too full!” But he laughed tauntingly, licking a stripe up your throat.

“You’re going to have to learn to trust me,” he soothed you, biting your earlobe gently, “you’re going to have to believe I know how to take care of my girl. How to make you come with that juicy cunt of yours strangling my cock.” With one finger sliding in and out of your anxious, puckered rear and his thumb strumming against your overused clitoris, you had no choice but to come again, this time Steve growling like an animal and thrusting his hips up viciously to impale you impossibly high, burying himself deep as you felt the heat of his come spread through you.

Shivering, you clung to his sleek, warm skin, everything spinning. “Cock drunk.”

Opening your eyes just slightly, you found yourself on your back and Steve carefully wiping your sweaty skin clean with a warm cloth. His hand paused. “What did you say?”

Giggling, you repeated it. “Cock drunk.”

Shaking his head, he laughed a little too. “Go to sleep, baby. You need more rest.”

As his hand drew away, you tried to hold onto it. “Are you gonna be here, lumberjack Steve?”

You felt him turn you on your side and pressed his long body behind you, settling your ass in the cradle of his hips, furred chest tight against your back. “I have you. Go to sleep.”

So, you did.

  
  
  



	6. Just A Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aura finds that caring and terrifying aren't that far apart.
> 
> If you haven’t already, you MUST read @nildespirandum‘s glorious and obscenely perfect Rapacity with vampire landlord Loki. https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869515

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I remembered a story about my older brother, 6'6 and your standard basketball jock in college. But he ended up becoming a land baron with multiple houses and apartment buildings and is worth more than the rest of the siblings put together. But when I was talking with a new nanny, she told me where she lived and I said, "Oh, that's my brother's place!" She asked who he was and I gave his name. She tilted her head and asked, "The handyman?" incredulously. I talked to my brother later and he was displeased with me. Apparently, he's been telling renters for YEARS that he's just the handyman, so they won't bug him for anything more than a broken window or a new smoke detector. I still think it's hilarious.

When you woke again, you could see the stars through the bank of windows in Steve’s bedroom. Stretching luxuriously, you felt his warmth and bulk pressed against your back. And an unmistakable hardness snug against your ass.

A bulky arm slid over your waist, pulling you closer. “How do you feel, babygirl?”

Experimentally moving arms and legs, you shook your head. “I feel … great. But I shouldn’t? I mean, I got stabbed yesterday.”

Steve was big enough that his chuckles jolted you. Sliding his thigh between yours, he lifted your leg a little higher, running his fingers along your (formerly) wounded calf. “Looks good now.”

Scrolling through all your midnight research about vampires, you asked cautiously, “Did you… Um. Crap. Did you feed me _blood?”_

His rough hand continued stroking along your skin. “What if I did?” You could feel the puff of warm air as he spoke against your skin, kissing your shoulder. 

“You feel real,” you whispered, “you feel alive. What _are_ you?” He took your chin and tilted it, looking you over. _God, his eyes were so blue..._ you thought, _iridescent, so clear._ But then you remembered Vantablack, and his gaze dipped as you stiffened.

The light bristle of his beard stroked along your throat as he kissed it. “I think you know what I am,” Steve said, his amusement clear. “And I’ll keep you safe. I’ll take care of you.” His fingers traveled down the front of you, circling your nipples and enjoying how they stiffened so eagerly. Putting them in your mouth, he murmured, “Get them wet for me.”

Your head was still tilted uncomfortably, but you couldn’t look away as he slid the work-roughened digits into your mouth, and your tongue timidly ran along them. When he pulled them from your lips and pressed them on your clit, open and bare from his thigh spreading yours, you groaned. “Are you … uh …” Your eyelids fluttered closed. God, how could two fingertips feel so good? Just his fingers alone were better than anyone you’d ever slept with.

“Yeah, baby?” His teeth were nibbling very delicately along the line of your collarbone. “What do you want to ask me?”

This time, your voice was small. “Are you gonna eat me?”

His laughter could be heard outside, in the meadow where the deer lifted their heads. “Only a snack every now and then. Just a sip,” Steve whispered into your ear. “I’ll never hurt you. But the way you taste…” His groan made you sigh, pushing your hips back against his. Spreading your thighs wider, his cock slipped between them, up and down, bumping and slapping your clitoris until you arched your back, bringing your hand down to put him inside you. This earned you a brisk slap on that delicate nub and you yelped. “No, no,” he chided, “bad girl. I’ll put it in when I decide you’re ready.” And his painfully good bumping and slipping and stroking with that thick shaft continued until you were boneless and moaning and covered in sweat and your own slick. And then Steve pushed up into you. “Such a good girl,” he rasped, hips moving slowly, first in a circular pattern and then shoving roughly, crudely along your wet, swollen channel. “Taking my cock so well, you’re so beautiful when you’re stuffed full of me.”

You made a high-pitched girlie noise that would embarrass the hell out of you the next day when you remembered it. You put one of his big hands on your breast, and slid the other tentatively to your throat. “I don’t know what to ask for,” you gasped, “but I remember how it felt.” 

His fingers tightened briefly on your neck, thumb stroking along your carotid artery, pulsing helplessly, eagerly along with the rest of you. His other hand went to cup your mound as his thrusts speeded up. “You want this?” Steve grunted.

“I th-” you yelped at a particularly hard thrust. “Th- think so?” 

You were coming and he was coming, flooding you with heat and wet, so you barely heard him whisper, “Just a taste.”

After he’d cleaned you up and made you drink a bottle of water and then some tea, your lumberjack, handyman, not handyman, vam… you just couldn’t say it slid back in bed with you, rolling you onto his ridiculously broad chest. Running the back of his hand over your smooth cheek, Steve smiled down at you, a kind smile. "What kind of books do you write?"

He was surprised at your slightly hysterical giggle until you answered him. "Murder mysteries." He howled over that revelation, and after a moment you joined him, laughing until you were weak and sleepy again. 

“Rest, baby. I got you…” was the last, lovely thing you heard.

“WHERE IS SHE!?” You could hear James’ anxious voice bellowing through Steve’s open living area and chuckled. Yep. There was your agent. You tried to crush your giggles as you heard his steps pelting up the stairway. “Aura!”

“Hey, James.” He plopped himself on the side of the bed, grabbing your hand. He was still stupidly handsome, blue eyes wide and a fashionable stubble decorating his face. And he was still wearing a suit.

“I got on the first flight out of Seattle- god, I am so sorry this happened to you, honey. I never... “ he shook his head, struggling for his next words.

“James, it’s okay. It’s not like, ‘What to do when the stalker gets serious,’ is listed in the agent’s playbook.” You sent a smile to Steve, who was leaning against the doorway, arms folded over his broad chest, and watching the two of you. “And Steve saved me.”

Steve shook his head. “You were well on the way to saving yourself, doll.” He turned to James. “Did you know that she dislocated her right hand to get out of the handcuffs? Cut her own bonds and she was waving a knife at him that she pulled out of her own leg.” 

Your agent turned to look at you with new respect. “I’ll be goddamned. The cuffs! From _A Very Bad Idea,_ right?" You laughed and nodded. "You are a warrior, Aura! I’m so proud of you.” He leaned in to give you an impulsive kiss on your forehead, and you noticed over his expensively suited shoulder that Steve frowned at the action. You sat and talked, catching him up on what happened and getting more details from them about how your psycho pharmacist got to you.

“I found his car parked about a mile and half down the road,” Steve said, “he’d parked it in a group of trees - put a branch right through his radiator - and hiked in. I think he trashed your engine by wiring a charge that would be muffled under the hood when it exploded, and slid into the house when you went out for the mail.”

“How did you manage to come back in time?” you asked, shaking your head. 

“I heard your scream,” his face sobered, ”I could smell- I heard you. So, James, what were you saying about the medications?”

Your agent bristled. “I had Steve send your meds out to a lab this morning. I called in a favor so they'd test it right first thing. Hargreaves was dosing you with a different anti-anxiety medication. He used a triple dose of Midazolam instead of your mild prescription for Alprazolam. That reverses the intended effect of the drug and increases your anxiety. But it got worse - then he mixed it with DXM, which is a powerful dissociative drug. That’s why you were confused.”

“I was losing time!” You shook your head. “Twice I started out running on the main road and ended up in Steve’s yard hours later instead.”

The two men shared a look. “Then I’m going to assume your subconscious knew where you were safe,” Bucky assured you. You shifted a little, embarrassed by the grin that arrogant blond lumberjack was giving you.

Said lumberjack leaned over you, pulling up the quilt and getting you to drink more water. “Can you sleep, little girl?” He said the endearment low enough that you didn’t think Bucky could hear, but you still flushed.

“Yeah, that would be good. Are you guys okay?” 

Steve smiled, coming in for a lingering kiss before standing up and heading for the door. “Yeah, we can keep ourselves busy while you sleep.”

"So, Steve. Was I right?"

Looking through the open bedroom door, he chuckled softly. "You were. She's perfect. Such a sweet little doll. I'll take good care of her."

James leaned against the wall. "She looks a little too healthy, punk. You didn't...?"

"No," Steve shook his head. "Just enough to heal her, that cut was really bad. She'll just feel ... healthier." He looked over at the other man, suit still pristine, his tie perfectly straight. "I don't get it. Aura really is perfect. Smart, beautiful, courageous..." his head tilted back. "So fucking sweet."

James laughed. "Her pussy or her blood?"

"Both. I can't wait for her cycle," the blond shuddered, "how could you resist that?"

"She's fragile," his friend added, straightening his shirt cuffs. "I have something else going right now."

Used to James' dark plans, he shook his head. "Well, she's mine now. Let's go downstairs so we don't wake her up."

Looking out over the forest on the deck running the full length of the house, James pointed his finger at Steve. "Remember our agreement. She keeps writing. It's almost a shame I can't use finally catching the stalker for publicity for her new release."

Brows drawn together, Steve said coldly, "No. You won't. You're not going to traumatize her again for publicity."

Unperturbed, James chuckled, "Already so protective. It's sweet."

"You hungry?"

James shrugged, "I could eat."

Steve led him through the gleaming kitchen to a heavy oak door, banded with iron hinges. With a dark little chuckle, he unlocked it and led the agent down the basement stairs, clicking on the single light bulb, hanging just over the head of the man chained to the floor, IV tubes in his arm with a saline drip, a rough bandage over his torn shoulder. Hargreaves the Psycho Pharmacist opened his eyes and began to whimper in terror as James' grin grew to feral proportions, jaw elongating to show the row of ridged, spiked teeth. But with the door to the basement closed, no one could hear the man's agonized screams. Certainly not the girl sleeping contentedly in the master bedroom.


End file.
